B is for Blushing
by The Sea On the Moon
Summary: *touches wagon... leans on it a little... starts jumping up and down...* Well, I guess now that I've hopped on the 221B bandwagon I should at least share my creation. New chapter: Behold. Slash. *Note:* not all of these are slash, but since I know my writing will eventually include such, I will warn you early.
1. Chapter 1

It was obvious that the cut was not that deep, but the way he studied it with his eyes narrowed into skeptical slits made it seem at though I had been bitten by a toxic snake. I remembered the evanescence of his smile when he saw me returning from a night out with a blood-stained sleeve. I had noticed a definite panic lurking beneath his seemingly calm disposition as he dressed my wounds.  
I realized he was half-kneeling on the floor before the settee and frowned. The somewhat cryptic manner of limping he had adopted lately only served to draw my attention to the pain my friend was struggling with all the more.  
"You shouldn't be kneeling, you are going to hurt yourself more."  
Perhaps it was the addition of the word 'more' that made his hazel colored eyes flick upwards to send me a questioning look. His face was flickering with the dancing light from the fireplace as I was momentarily lost in his silent gaze. I felt poorly for worrying him this evening, but now I only sought to rectify it.  
He flinched as I helped him up and into his char before getting a blanket. He surprised me with a mischievous grin followed by a warning: "I'm liable to start getting jealous if you keep leaving me behind."


	2. Chapter 2

"Watson? Watson?!" He wandered from alley to alley calling like a tormented animal, trying to remember when he had lost sight of his companion. He fought his instinct to panic and wake everyone in the district with his crying.  
Every shadow seemed to be the doctor, huddled up injured or dying or dead... Holmes' mind was foreseeing the worst-case scenarios. The hazel eyes staring up blindly as the body grew cold and rigid. Blood pooling under the familiar figure of his friend and roommate. It was a nightmare before his eyes as he dodged in and out of narrow, twisting back roads.  
As the worlds only private consulting detective he was familiar with death. He recognized the slowing and fading beat of a pulse as he pressed a thumb to the right spot. He had seen the rigor mortis set in as a body grew cold and still. The memories of the bodies he had seen were morphing into Watson, and he momentarily lost his voice choking on tears he was trying to swallow. He had to pull himself together for his friend.  
He was beginning to regret taking this case of blackmail he was investigating. It was vitally important for London's safety, but if his efforts had endangered his friend in any way, his anger would be terrible to behold...


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Continuation of last. _

Holmes knew if he didn't control his temper and fear the hysteria would overwhelm his logic and reasoning abilities. He had to think about the situation. Blackmailers knew their trade well. What better way to forestall his investigation then to hold his friend against him? He did not want to face the complex choice between the men he loved and the welfare of London.

His air of bravado was quickly becoming harder to keep. He was almost embarrassed with the state of mind he was in, but not quite. His friend has selflessly insisted on assisting him on this case, regardless of the high risk for danger.

Though try as he might to sort out his emotional attachment to the men he'd thrown in with for financial reasons, he could not deny the arrangement was no longer simply the cost of red (and Mrs. Hudson had grown fond of them enough to accept late payments more than once). Since the expression of his feelings they had not much changed their habits, but started stealing kisses in moments of silent and solitude.

He tried to ignore his wrath at the circumstances focus on his search as the late hour was sounded by the clock the clock tower bells.


	4. Chapter 4

Watson's legs were cold and beginning to cramp. Stuck in the same position for a little over a half-hour now he was beginning to wish he could adjust. The man had left the door ajar as they began discussing their plans in grave tones so Watson dared not risk any noises trying to shift.  
"The man is an arrogant fool!" One hissed, referring to Sherlock Holmes.  
Watson had been catching snippets of the conversation, but nothing to indicate their exact intentions. If he was gathering some useful information, he would tolerate the discomfort. He was hoping against hope that he would be able to move soon, but he wondered if he could walk at all without collapsing.  
He didn't like the risk, but he had to try to shift.  
Putting his weight on his better leg he began to use the wall to his back to slowing inch to a standing position. Once there he let go of the wall and took a step. So far, so good, he thought.  
On his third step, he tumbled over into some boxes that had formed the barrier he had been hiding behind. He cursed his recklessness as the men came out of the house to investigate the noise.  
He looked around desperately for an escape, but instead his eyes fixed on a bottle.


	5. Chapter 5

Watson let out an unhinged giggle and reached for the bottle as he began to rise, letting himself stumble a bit as he got to his feet. "Evening gents..." He slurred his words as he waved the bottle erratically.  
"Just a drunk." One man said with disgust in his voice. He spat in Watson's direction.  
Watson just laughed again and leaned to his left before taking a step away from them to continue walking down the street.  
To his surprise the men let him go by, seeing only a stupid drunk who wouldn't remember anything he had heard. He continued to stumble as he walked away to keep up the façade. He collided once with the wall and held back a hiss of pain as his leg protested the movement.  
He realized his spontaneous act had just saved his live. He felt clever for once. Just as he rounded a corner though, his pride in his quick-thinking dissolved into panic again as he felt someone grab his shoulders backing him against the wall gently.  
"Are you hurt? What happened? Where have you been?" A fearful voice hissed urgently.  
Before Watson could begin to answer the frantic questioning his leg began to protest again and it was only the firm support of Holmes' hands under his arms that prevented him from buckling.


End file.
